


With the Light of the Sun, I'll Find My Way Home (To You)

by MapacheLuna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, HQ Rarepair Exchange, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6253780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapacheLuna/pseuds/MapacheLuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where you carry the physical signs of the people who touch your life, they're easy to forget when you have more bare skin than marked. But Takanobu reasons, sometimes it only takes a certain type of person to make you appreciate the weight of the few you carry.</p><p>A person like Karasuno's Number Ten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With the Light of the Sun, I'll Find My Way Home (To You)

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s my gift for [blameitonthesnow](http://blameitonthesnow.tumblr.com/) for the [HQ rarepair exchange](http://hqrarepairexchange.tumblr.com/) ~!! 
> 
> (As usual, I'm late... >___________>)
> 
> One of the prompts was soulmates AU and since I’m sure as everyone knows, I'm pretty much a slut for those, I just had to. The prompt also highlighted a proclivity for unconventional, SOOOOO here’s some Aohina set in an AU where the impact you have on someone’s life literally shows up as a mark anywhere on their skin that lights up when you touch each other..but the skin over your heart is reserved for your soulmate.

__Karasuno, Takanobu realized, was very close. Closer than most teams Datekou had ever faced, and much closer now than they had seemed when they’d last played against them.

He watched with assessing eyes as the shouts of  _“Nice receive”_ and _“Don’t mind”_ rang out on the other side of the net, following the movements of the setter -a different one than the silver-haired third year with the kind eyes,- reading the toss to block the spiker, the Number Five.

Takanobu watched as the Number Five landed on his feet with a loud curse, glaring at him through the net before turning back to the pats and shouts of encouragement from his team. His eyes were immediately drawn to the way the marks up and down his arms and legs lit up with the different hands that landed on him:

A tree on his left bicep when the captain ran a hand over his head.

The lightning bolt on the inside of his right forearm when the libero smacked him on the back.

The butterfly on the back of his right hand when the ace patted him on the shoulder.

All marks that had been there three months ago, but they looked brighter now, more vibrant and glowing more violently with each touch, as if he was absorbing strength from his teammates.

“Damn,” Futakuchi huffed next to him with a pout. “They’re really not getting discouraged this time.”

“Futakuchi!” Takanobu turned his head in time to see their own captain smack Futakuchi on the head. “I thought I told you to stop being mean-spirited?”

“I was just saying!” Futakuchi defended himself, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his head, the sleeve of his shirt sliding up just enough for them to see the edge of the mark on his shoulder as it flared to life. “They’re different than they were last time.”

“They are,” Moniwa agreed, eyes straying back over to the other side of the net. “But they’re not the same team anymore, so that’s to be expected, I guess.”

Moniwa, Takanobu supposed as he walked off the court, Sakunami rushing past him, was right. Although all of the third years and second years appeared to still be the same, Karasuno had new first years on the team this time, four of them. Even if he hadn’t recognized the new faces, the traces of them were obvious on the rest of the team.

From his vantage point on the sidelines, Takanobu watched the captain serve, eyes taking in the bird near his ankle, the faint curve of something he couldn’t quite make out on his calf, the smattering of stars across his knee. And of course, the sun on his shin.

Although everyone in Karasuno seemed to be carrying everyone’s symbols (from what he could tell, anyway), the sun stood out the most in Takanobu’s eyes. Maybe it was because it was an alarming orange-red shade, or perhaps because when it lit up, it glowed like it was on fire, real plasma feeding its light from the inside.

Or it could be because Takanobu knew it belonged to the Number Ten.

He turned his head towards Karasuno’s sidelines, looking past their third year setter -possibly the most heavily marked person Takanobu had ever seen; he carried his marks etched deeply and dark, smile warming up even more whenever one of them lit up, a warmth he saw reflected in the faces of his teammates when they received an affectionate touch- towards the little redhead. Next to the setter, the Number Ten was a strong contender for the second most marked skin, both arms and legs littered with symbols, big and small, bright and dull. Takanobu could see him clearly from where he stood, bouncing on his toes as he watched his teammates, body practically vibrating with palpable energy, giving the impression that the marks on his body were reacting to the movements of his friends on the court.

Even as Takanobu watched, the setter reached out to lay a calming hand on the fluffy nest of bright hair, the sun on his wrist glowing almost as brightly as the smile he got in return. The glow of the splattering of drops on the Number Ten’s elbow was dull in comparison (nothing like the way the same symbol shone on the captain’s clavicle).

Takanobu followed the Number Ten with his eyes as he was finally set loose by the third year setter, swapping places with the libero with a gleeful smile. _Mark the Number Ten,_ his coach had said and Takanobu had accepted the words for what they were; follow the Number Ten, don’t let him out of your sight, anticipate the moment the Number Ten’s hand would make contact with the ball.

But he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he’d taken the words a little too much to heart, as his eyes found their way back to the little middle blocker even when they weren’t facing each other across the net, darting glances at him on the sidelines, or with sidelong stares out of the corners of his eyes during breaks.

Futakuchi caught him during the second set, after he’d finished taking a drink of water and watching as the Number Ten dodged the swipe sent his way by the second setter, the Number Nine. He was startled out of his contemplation by an unnecessarily bony elbow in the ribs, snapping around to glare at his best friend, who only raised his hands in mock surrender with an easy smirk.

“Easy there, Aone,” Futakuchi snickered, absently watching the way the shield on the back of his right hand flared to life. “I was just wondering what was so interesting over on Karasuno’s side that you’d be spacing out so much?” Futakuchi leaned past Takanobu, eyebrow rising at the way the Number Nine was shaking the Number Ten by the collar of his shirt. “Besides the show, I guess.” His eyes flicked back up. “It’s not like you.”

Takanobu grunted, letting his gaze drop to his own hands, clenched tightly around his water bottle. He caught the dying glow of the knot on the back of his own right hand-

 _(“My sister said it’s called a ‘Celtic knot,’”_ Futakuchi had explained to him sometime in the summer of their first year. _“Which doesn’t really make much sense to me; I mean, I’m not Irish. Why can’t I just say its mizuhiki?”_ )

-and he couldn’t help the natural path his eyes took, taking in the sparse symbols that littered his skin, one or two every few inches. He had even less on his legs, and barely any on his torso; just his parents’, both on the side of his ribs. Nothing like the droplets scattering upwards from the Karasuno captain’s collar, or the sturdy branches curling out of the third year setter’s shirt. Surely not anything like what the bright, stubborn, little Number Ten must be bearing.

No soulmate mark.

Futakuchi must have read his expression, because he was suddenly patting him on the shoulder, his hand flickering like a firefly in tune to the quick thrums. “Hey, don’t make that face. You’ll scare the kids in the stands.” His face softened though, barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t spend as much time as he did with him. “You know it’s not anything we can control, right? The universe is shitty like that.”

Takanobu frowned at that, eyes unconsciously sliding back towards the Number Ten. He had finished fighting with the Number Nine, and all he could see now was the bright glow of bird encompassing the entire palm of his hand, and the matching red hot light shimmering on his setter’s own fingertips.

“Those first years are something else,” Futakuchi rolled his eyes. “I’m not entirely convinced they’re actually human. Besides,” He flapped his hand around. “Who wants to be covered in a bunch of random marks anyway? It means you give too much of yourself too freely.” He gave a theatrical shiver as the whistle split the air. “What do you have left to give your soulmate if that’s the case?”

Takanobu could see where Futakuchi was coming from, he supposed, as he made his way back onto the court. If you were so willing to give a part of yourself to everyone you met that your mark was everywhere, it did make it appear a little less special. Already, Karasuno’s marks were becoming familiar, blending into each other in formless blobs before his eyes as he watched them move.

Yet he couldn’t help but think that it must be something really beautiful too, to be someone so open to others that you’d take them into your life too, carrying their symbols proudly on your own skin, even if they were as faded as the ones on the Number Ten’s ankles and shins. He still jumped just as high, still shouted just as hard for every one of his teammate’s spikes and receives as he did his own, and Takanobu couldn’t help but think that whoever this little sun’s soulmate was, there was no way they could ever be anything less than proud of how much of himself he was willing to put out into the world.

After all, the world was just as willing to give it back to him too, in a pattern of flashing rainbows across his skin that only made him shine all the brighter.

So when Karasuno won, Takanobu couldn’t have stopped himself even if he had wanted to from stretching his hand towards him underneath the net; to congratulate him on his win, to commend him for his tenacity, to take in exactly what made this little middle blocker so intriguing.

The last thing he had expected was the rope of heat that traveled up his arm, startling him into immobility, even after the Number Ten had scampered away, answering the calls of _Hinata!_ with his own.

He refused to check until he was back home, safe in his own bedroom. Only then did he allow himself to peel his shirt off and stare, incredulous, at the circle and sharp peaks that made up the new mark on his chest. He ran a finger over it, noting the smoothness of the skin; nothing to indicate that it had ever not been a part of his body.

And yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it wasn’t a fatigue-induced dream, not until the next morning when he looked in his bathroom mirror and the familiar red-orange sun greeted him, bright and new and beautiful against his own bare skin.

The smile on his face was small, but Futakuchi still made a big deal about it when he finally got to school, asking him if he was having a muscle spasm, squinting up at his face with over-exaggerated concern. Takanobu let him have his fun, even if it was at his expense.

After all, he’d just found his soulmate.

**Author's Note:**

> Who wants to guess how long I was lowkey screeching at a pitch only dogs can hear writing this at the end?  
> (Answer: One hour)


End file.
